Boxes lay along the curved perimeter of the silvery dock. A slender figure darted around them, stacking smaller boxes on medium, turning some toward the shoreline. The healer and her intern had placed three large boxes on the further, forested side, long before the observers had arrived. The dock rocked, slapping the water; the beasts were restless.
Twelve boxes total, counting the one in her belly pocket.
The crowd quieted as dawn softened, red to apricot.
She raised her arms. “Z!” The intern unlatched the largest box and stepped back as a silky black panther padded toward the trees.
He turned his head once, flashed his canines in farewell and disappeared into the shadows. Continue reading
She sat in the dayroom, warmed by morning sun through the picture window. Her pink sweater mounded over her shriveled form and stick-thin arms, pooled around her bony thighs. Mostly unresponsive, she seemed content in her isolation. But perhaps her mind swooped, hawk’s wings over her long and verdant life, 
Valley of the Trolls 